Fear, Hope, and Burning
by WarriorKnight
Summary: Alice is a 17 year old girl who knows nothing of her past, for whenever she thinks about it, all she sees is blackness.....
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize to be Stephanie Meyer's is, and I don't own any of her characters

**Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize to be Stephanie Meyer's is, and I don't own any of her characters.**

.

**Fear, Hope, and Burning**

Prologue:

I was writhing, struggling, thrashing about; I hardly had my bearings anymore.

Wait.

I didn't have them at all.


	2. Chapter 1: Flames and Fire

Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize to be Stephanie Meyer's is, and I don't own any of her characters

**Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize to be Stephanie Meyer's is, and I don't own any of her characters.**

Fear, Hope, and Burning

**Fear, Hope, and Burning**

Prologue:

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!"

What were they doing to me?

Every day, twice a day, these horrid men would march into the square box that was my dwelling and administer fire to my body that would make me cry out in anguish till my throat became sore.

When they would leave, I would lay shivering in a corner, attempting to breathe evenly, fighting my horror of when they might return.

But there was one thing I knew, if not anything else:

It was that they tortured me—in this box—

because I had a precognition.

They had just left, and—as usual—I sat, trembling, in my position by the wall. I was just practicing the controlling of my breathing when there was the sound of forced metal and a loud thud in some area somehow outside my world of black. Something grated open, and a curtain of...white...fell across the ground. Gaping in disbelief, I made out a man dressed in a frayed cloak standing where the source of...light...had come from. He held a stick that radiated brightness from it—I think it is called a flashlight—and beckoned me forward.

I stiffly stood, barely aware of my own movements, and half staggered-half glided on barely steady feet towards the man, as if in a trance. As I neared, I could make out his features. He was an aged man, his complexion white, with a straggly beard and grayed hair, but still noticeably beautiful somehow.

At last, I reached him. He looked down at me, making me also do so for the first time. I was a mess: red lines were etched on my skin everywhere, my apparently waist-length hair was filthy and unkempt, dirt was streaked along my arms and legs—probably my face too—and my grimy dress was in pieces and tatters.

When I had finished my inventory, I looked up to face him again. His handsome, elderly face was distressed.

"I have to get you out of here," he said so quickly that I had to strain to understand him.

Then he picked me up easily and ran out towards the whiteness faster than I would have thought possible.


	3. Chapter 2: Danger Aproaches

**Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize to be Stephanie Meyer's is, and I don't own any of her characters.**

Fear, Hope, and Burning

**Chapter 2: Danger Aproaches**

Everything—the walls, the sky, the cells of the Asylum—were being wrenched past my eyes at an unearthly speed. He was a tachyon carrying me away.

_But to what?_ I still had the microscopic amount of sense to think. _Where would he take me?_

I would never know the answer to

that question.

* * *

The stitches of fabric that still clung to my body could hardly be called clothes anymore. They flapped in the wind, as did my hair. The dark locks streamed behind me as the man's inhuman speed somehow managed to increase. Some little space in the back part of my brain told me I should be terrified, and impossibly dizzy, from all that had happened in the past few…minutes?…and this breakneck speed. But I wasn't. I felt an odd sense of _comfort_, even.

That was, until we stopped.

It was abrupt, unexpected. My savior was stiff as stone, only slightly moving his arms to unlock my stranglehold around his neck, and he set me on the ground on my feet.

I stumbled for a bit, but then got my footing. Dazed some, but still half focused, I realized the elderly man was inching me behind him and then, too quickly, leaning into a crouch, a deep guttural sound escaping his lips.

I peaked to the side of him, my eyes scanning the area slowly, taking everything in. They had almost completed a full round when I froze.

Right there, about 9 yards away, stood a tall, catlike man with the same complexion as my rescuer, but with bright, ruby eyes, eyes that glowed like the fiery pits of Hades.

And they had a strange look in them, as if they thirsted for something, and I was deathly afraid by now that it had something to do with me.


End file.
